No articles in the New York Times. No book deals. There wasn’t a final night party with friends to celebrate one last meal and the completion of a grueling 365-day cooking goal. Other than the length of the project, there was nothing else similar to Julie Powell’s 2002-2003 feat including – thankfully – the consumption of a hundred pounds of butter.
Day 366 was no different than 365. In fact, I have continued to write daily – minus worrying about a photo to accompany the post or fretting about tags and categories and sharing the entries on social media.
There have been a few fans – I know that for certain – but otherwise it was a quiet endeavor. Alone with my thoughts. Not unlike the shy, introverted little boy talking to my pet frog in the yard of our Queen Victoria Avenue townhome, or the 49 year-old that canvassed mostly by himself for two months in an attempt to regain his seat among elected school board officials. Alone because he didn’t want to drag anyone – including his family – down knowing full well, he would be attacked and labeled as anyone who dares question the political and social narrative.
I know this sounds like a big pity party, but that’s not the intention. I have always been comfortable alone with my thoughts and even though it was lonely at times wandering every inch of the city ward I live in during the 2022 municipal election, I enjoyed that quiet time walking up and down the steps to almost every home, thinking about the world with camera in hand. I took a lot of photos during that quiet election and in fact, I used many of those shots for this project.
This blog was a direct result of how downtrodden I felt on election night – as a former elected official – not winning one poll. My character had been shattered, I had lost my community, although I had now built some early ties with like-minded individuals who have long seen beyond the hate driving the divides within our neighbourhoods – Ideologues trying to dismantle our systems and destroying the lives of passionate community members who dare ask questions.
I’m not sorry I ran in that election. I stood for something – not against anything or anyone. I stood up for friends and strangers-turned acquaintances. I became hated by those that once voted for me and lifted me up on my way to becoming an elected official, but I’ve come to realize that is an unfortunate price for speaking truth and asking the questions they have no answer to, except to throw the myriad of labels from their playbook at you.
Perhaps there is little chance I will ever become a New York Times best seller when I can’t keep my mouth shut about the things that bother me from identity politics to gender ideology, even though I love people passionately with no exceptions within any group labels.
The local newspaper called me a political contradiction. I’ve come to take that as a term of endearment, meaning that there is no one label for the plurals who believe in one love, but not in ideologies disguised as unquestionable truths.
As I sit and stare at this poster I created to capture the blood, sweat and fears I put into this past year, I feel pride. I’m not perfect. You may not like my point of view and in fact, tomorrow I might not like what I believed yesterday either because every day, I try to learn something new and that’s all any of us can do. We are who we are in this very moment and as long as we are willing and open to grow, the we that we are within this very breath, is enough.
In the end, I wrote for 365 days, crafted 369 blog entries which included orange-ified images for each post, and I penned 140K+ words across 2 Provinces, and 5 States.
Whether I ever publish a book or not, my girls will have this as a keepsake and hopefully even as inspiration to follow their dreams. Maybe they won’t all come true, but I know I will still smile at the end of my days, knowing that I tried – that I wrote all of my life as long as I was able, and that is enough.
I want my kids to have passions beyond the flesh, that lights the fire within. Something that brings them great joy and although they may want to turn this love into a career, as long as they are still enjoying their ‘thing’ whether it’s a sport or creative endeavor, that fervor is where real success lies.
I’ll never stop believing that there is a New York Times best seller in me, but there is no doubt that the life I have led thus far, has been a blockbuster hit from my mind’s eye. Like every story, there have been trials, tribulations, and heartbreak, but the joy that my days have brought would leave any audience feeling that the time they spent within my story, was worth the price of admission.
My wife asked me what my next project is going to be? House repairs was my immediate response. It’s time to clean my room as Jordan Peterson wrote but hey, there are over 140K words from this past year to pull from, as I think of what my book might one day be about.
Thank you to those that have followed along in my journey, for my family for giving me the space to create each day and for being funny and wonderful muses. You humored me through the mountainous west coast to visit the last Blockbuster, when jet-setting to a sunny vacation spot would have been preferred, and you keep getting in my boat no matter how many times I try to sink it. This must be love.
My life’s a fvcking best seller. I can’t wait to see what happens on the next fvcking page.
All the best in your What the Fvck’s, Lawrence.
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